Heat Index
by Amledo
Summary: Modern AU, not BBC. It's the hottest summer London has ever seen, and Holmes and Watson have no A/C. Based loosely on my miserable midwestern summer. Slash


(A/N: So this is going to be a modern AU Sherlock Holmes fic. No it is not based off of the BBC Sherlock, that ficcage comes later. I don't own Sherlock Holmes, I never will. But I submit this to you, my dear readers as proof of my love for the great Detective and his Boswell. I will warn you that this is going to be slash, not graphic, just you know…kissing. I don't do lemons unless severely harangued and begged. I invite convincing arguments. On with the show!)

Heat Index

The heat had all but crushed him into his chair and smothered him with a wet pillow. Their air conditioning had broken, and it was the hottest week of the hottest summer London had seen in ages. It had been three days without any relief in sight and two since he'd seen any sign of Sherlock Holmes, his eccentric flat mate. At that juncture he was almost certain that if he went into Holmes's rooms he would find that the Consulting Detective had combusted spontaneously into flames. With the combined force of the heat and Sherlock's affinity for Victorian dress, it certainly seemed possible to Watson's heat scourged brain.

"You know Watson; the age at which the common household air conditioner breaks down is 7 years. That is barring any catastrophic outside interference."

"Yes, and?" Watson questioned, never missing a beat even in the heat. Holmes was well known for vanishing for days at length and then reappearing and continuing in the same vein of a conversation that Watson had long forgotten. The Doctor had gotten quite used to it. And he chuckled to himself as the phrase 'speak of the Devil' threaded itself through his mind.

"I've checked with Mrs. Hudson, ours was 28 years old. Now that's a damn good system to make it so long, no doubt about it. Know the only problem with damn good systems?" Holmes was certainly frustrated at that point, or had been all along. Watson was ashamed to admit that he couldn't quite tell.

"No my dear Holmes, what is that?" Watson asked, finally having the good sense to be concerned by his flushed but not sweating flat mate in his oppressive clothing. Holmes was also notorious for failing to properly maintain his body and by all accounts to abuse the fleshy vessel when it suited his purpose.

"They don't bloody well make parts for it anymore!" Holmes said in a hoarse shout and pitched a rather abused looking stack of phonebooks into a chair, toppling the poor thing over. The taller man heaped himself upon a sofa and assumed a pouting and childish face to signify his defeat in his venture. He was still wearing a button down with long sleeves, a vest and long trousers, and Watson could easily see that horridly flushed didn't do justice to the tomato redness of the other man's face.

Now Watson had nothing against propriety, obviously one didn't want to be in a state of undress in the presence of his flat mate, but heat like this was a sure exception. The Doctor himself had forgone a shirt and wore only a pair of gym shorts. He had also been drinking water like a fish. As he rose to his feet and tromped over to where his friend lay, he was almost certain that Holmes hadn't.

Ever the physician Watson smacked away Holmes's protesting hands and checked his temperature and pulse before testing his skin for the most obvious signs of dehydration. Sherlock growled like a feral dog at the pinch on the back of his hand, but Watson ignored him as though he wasn't there. He silently evaluated the horrid dark circles around the taller mans eyes and the labored quality of his breathing. Holmes was in no shape to be in such heat.

"Three sleepless days, at least half that without water and not a scrap of food, all while languishing in this heat in that ill advised outfit. Holmes what could possibly be so important about the air conditioning that you'd land yourself in this state?" Watson said and began unbuttoning the other man's vest, bodily removing Sherlock from at least that layer.

"Three days since the blasted thing broke? I'd assumed it had only been a few hours," the Detective said as the Doctor unceremoniously ripped the button down open and exposed Holmes's pale skin and bones chest to the air. Heat radiated from the younger man and Watson was merciless in dumping the contents of an iced water bottle over him.

"Holmes those are the national business directories for half of Europe…You've called every one you can think of about this," Watson said in astonishment and fought the stubborn man out of his shoes and socks. Holmes still didn't look all that much improved, even slowly drinking the water that was given to him didn't seem to be helping. Of course John could tell that the other man wished very much to drain the container in one draw, it was imperative that he didn't.

"Repair centers, retailers, plumbers, mechanics, antiquities shops, pawn brokers and scrap yards. To no avail, I'm very aware of it my dear Doctor," Holmes said despondently, his flush not cooling. His eyes grew distant and Watson's breath caught in his chest, he cursed himself thrice a fool for not checking on the other man sooner. Uncaring for Sherlock Holmes's dignity Doctor Watson stripped the Detective of his pants and fetched several rags drenched in cold water from the kitchen. He placed one on the other man's forehead and neck, one on either wrist, two over his heaving chest and one on either ankle. Of course Holmes was lucky to not be suffering heatstroke but Watson was frightened no less.

"Sherlock, come on…this isn't funny," John whispered and after several minutes of no change he ran and turned the cold water on full blast and stopped up the bathtub. He was getting his friend cool if it was the last thing he did. He pulled Sherlock until the taller man's back was flush with his own chest and hooked his arms over that pale chest. In such a fashion he dragged his only real friend into their bathroom where the tub was almost half full.

He knew that if he gave up his position he would never manage to get the other man into the tub so Watson stepped into the frigid water and felt his head spin at the coolness. Pulling Holmes with him was easier from the stronger position; he just hadn't expected Holmes to bodily drag him into the water as well. It was completely undignified and left a great deal of water on the floor. Watson was on his rump, pinned with his back against the end of the tub by Holmes's twitching weight. He sighed and turned the showerhead on so that the cool spray washed over both of them. If he was going to be stuck he would rather like to enjoy it.

"John," Sherlock's parched and weak voice sounded after some ten minutes of soaking. The Doctor shifted to acknowledge his friend, having almost drifted off in the odd comfort that they'd attained.

"Yes Sherlock?" Watson asked, trying to pull his arms out from around Sherlock's body.

"You shouldn't have left my boxers on. You're a Doctor man," Sherlock criticized and John wanted desperately to say that he hadn't gone against protocol but Holmes was already shucking the wet garments. They landed with a squelching slap on the tile floor and Watson's face went red.

"Forgive me for being preoccupied by your health. Might you consider letting me up now that you are functional?" John Watson said, trying to salvage his dignity and thanking the cold waters for their numerous boons. Sherlock merely rolled sideways and wedged himself more firmly against the older man.

"Not a chance dear boy. Not a chance. Now it seems that it is you that suffers from the heat. How pray tell is that possible in this cold water?" the words startled Watson almost more than the pair of lips that meshed with his own. He kissed back without any coercion or prompting, Holmes had known all along that Watson was his, or so it seemed. The naked Detective smiled against his friend's lips and wrapped his arms firmly around the Doctor's waist. How long had they both been waiting for this, Watson's mind wondered at it even as Holmes pulled him up from the bath.

"Sherlock…I…" John didn't finish as his lips were once again captured by those of a man he'd previously thought of as stuck in friend territory. He would be sure to avoid cursing the heat in the future that was certain.

(A/N: So yeah, perhaps not great, but this was written on the fly. The heat index here is 118 Fahrenheit at the moment. I don't have A/C and apparently that makes me think slashy thoughts. Review if you like, I'm going to find a lake to jump into.)


End file.
